


A stab in the dark

by thejourneymaninn



Series: Stepping Stones [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Cuddling, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Emotional Tension, pre-fenders - Freeform, still at the friends stage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9147793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: Fenris still joins Anders in his bed every night. When their friends come to the clinic in search of Anders, Fenris and Anders manage to avoid detection, yet are still forced to face some of their lurking fears.Follow-up to Beyond the Debris and Cold Feet and third part of the Stepping Stones series. The instalments are connected and in chronological order, but can also be read separately.





	

Weeks passed, and Fenris kept showing up in Anders’ little makeshift home in the mineshaft every night without fail, unless one of them was away on a job with Hawke. While Anders had come to expect his arrival a few hours after he usually closed his clinic, they had never discussed it, never agreed on a specific time, and he doubted Fenris was inclined to stick to one. More than anything, he seemed to value his independence, making a point of demonstrating he could come and go as he pleased. Stalking into the room warily, with his chin held high, he sometimes reminded Anders so much of a cat that it was hard not to smile. And just like a cat, he grew soft and hungry for affection the moment he snuggled into him.

Accordingly, on some nights Anders was already fast asleep by the time the elf finally made his way into Darktown and only noticed the warm body curled up against his when he woke up in the morning. Yet far more often, they fell asleep holding each other close, sharing warmth, soft, soothing touches and, to a lesser extent, words. Their content did not change all that much, yet more often than not, wry, humorous acceptance took the place of bitter accusation. At least at night. The days were still another matter. Listening to them, no one would have guessed they spent their nights….cuddling, Anders supposed. And in fact, none of their friends knew. Which was why they were being very, very quiet right now.

On the other side of the wall, they could hear Hawke, Varric, and Aveline stomping through the empty clinic, wondering where Anders might be. Loudly.

“Anders isn’t here; Fenris isn’t in his mansion; Maker knows where Isabela is…”

“Probably having a little fun time with Daisy, Hawke…”

Their footsteps were getting closer. And…what was that noise? That sounded an awful lot like someone rummaging through his desk. Anders scowled. Varric, most likely, nosy dwarf that he was.

“Right. I guess we’d better not head to Merrill’s then…. That’s those two accounted for. But what about our glow-worms? Somehow I doubt they’re having _fun time_ together.”

Aveline snorted. “That’s an image I didn’t need, Hawke.”

“Now, that would make for an interesting story, that much’s for certain. More likely though, Blondie is out rebelling against the powers that be, and the elf is somewhere broodily brooding the broodiness of…existence, or something. Hard to tell with him. He might spend his nights staring at the skies in a lonely field…or be a regular at the Rose, for all I know.”

“Fenris? I doubt it; he’s a prude if ever there was one,” Hawke huffed. Considering how clearly Anders could hear him, he was probably leaning directly against the wall, only a bit of wood – and a pile of rubble – preventing them from being discovered.

“Says the biggest prude of them all…well, not counting Choirboy.”

“I’m not a prude; I’m just not interested. That’s different. And you’re one to talk, Mr. Crossbow.”

“Trust me, Hawke, you don’t know half of what Bianca can do…”

“Alright, we all have issues, and I’d rather you didn’t give me more,” Aveline cut in in a manner that clearly signified the conversation was over. “Can we go to take care of the _city’s_ problems now? Seems like it’s going to be just the three of us.”

Hawke pushed off the wall with a sigh, and slowly, their footsteps began to recede. Anders let out a breath of relief. Fenris, however…

Somewhere during their friends’ good-natured banter, the elf had grown rigid in Anders’ arms. It was all the more jarring as he had been struggling to suppress a giggle before. (Yes, a giggle, Hawke hadn’t been lying - Fenris was capable of that. Anders hadn’t yet quite recovered from that particular revelation.) Now, the elf’s brow was furrowed and his face…. Maker, it looked like a ruin, crumpled and overgrown, falling apart right in front of Anders’ eyes. And it stayed like this, even after the door had finally closed behind their friends. (Bloody rogues and their bloody lock picking.)

“Are you alright?” Anders asked, stroking a hand along Fenris’ arm. It was the only part of his body (beside his still slightly-too-cold feet) that wasn’t covered, the only skin Anders ever got to feel. It was possible that he placed his hand there a tiny bit more often than strictly necessary.

“I am fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“That is a matter of fact versus perception. Now let us sleep.”

Anders had learned things about the elf in all those nights they had shared. Enough to know it was best not to push, and to find other means to comfort him than words. Fenris still shied from those. It wasn’t in Anders’ nature, but he had learned to accommodate him…or rather, was learning. It was a work in progress. He pulled Fenris a bit more tightly against him, twisting them both around so that the elf’s face was nestled against the crook of his neck. He didn’t know why, but that position always seemed to calm Fenris.

As he waited for the elf’s breathing to relax, Anders lay staring at the wall, wondering what could have upset him so much. The insinuation that they...? Fear that their friends might find out? Not that there was anything to find out, really; this was hardly comparable to Merrill and Isabela. They were just…friends. Were they friends? He hoped they were. Maker, he really did. Friends with the mage-hating elf…

After a few minutes, he felt Fenris drifting off to sleep. The better part of an hour later, Anders finally managed to follow.

 

 

The elf was already out of bed when Anders woke up, and appeared to be preparing to scale the rubble. He kept his back to him, sullen and distant, offering not even a single word of Goodbye. Just a few weeks ago, Anders wouldn’t have thought twice about it, would have considered it to be his natural state, even. He knew better now. And he was fairly certain letting him leave like that was a bad idea. Drowsy as he was, he scrambled off the bed and grabbed his arm – softly, making it a gesture instead of an actual restraint. If Fenris truly wanted to walk away, Anders wouldn’t force him to stay. But the elf stilled.

“Fenris…what’s wrong? And don’t say you’re fine, I can _feel_ that you’re not.”

His enquiry was met with stubborn silence. And, at last, a deep sigh.

“I am angry.”

“With me? Why? What have I done?” _Had_ he done something? He didn’t think he had…but it was hard to be sure when it came to Fenris and his many boundaries.

Another sigh, and a bashful expression. “Nothing. Yet my anger does not seem to care.” After a short pause he added, eyes locked on his feet. “You said I would always be welcome here.”

“Well, yes, you are.”

“I won't be when you....find someone. They will be sleeping here.”

Anders couldn’t help himself; he burst out laughing.

The elf’s jaw set. “Yes, laugh at me.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but it _is_ funny. Or maybe I should rather think of it as a compliment…that you actually think I could find someone. I’m a possessed apostate living in a sewer, with the Templars after me and not a silver to my name. No one in their right mind would share my bed.”

Fenris’ lifted his head, eyebrows rising to meet his hair. “You do realise that is what I am doing?”

“Well....yes, but not in that sense.”

“Sex.” There was something in the elf’s face that belied the matter-of-fact tone of the statement. Somehow, Anders felt like he was being challenged, yet he had no idea why, or on what grounds.

“No,” he said hesitantly, “in the sense that also means…sharing my life.”

Challenge made way for uncertainty. The elf’s eyes flitted across Anders’ chest, refusing to meet his. Anders waited for him to speak, but he didn’t utter a single word. 

“Fenris, look at me.” It took almost a minute, but at last green, frightened eyes met his. He looked so brittle, Anders would have killed to reassure him. Yet he didn’t dare touch him in this state. All he could do was give him a smile. “I won’t just ditch you, alright? I said you would always be welcome here, and I meant it. Trust me, no one's going to take your place. You’ll be able to sleep here as long as you want....Until _you_ find someone.” His smile grew faint. The thought carried an unexpected amount of pain. The elf had a lot to offer and, although he hid it well, a gentle, caring heart. One day, probably rather sooner than later, someone would take notice. “And once that happens, you won't care about sleeping here anymore anyway.”

“No.” Fenris firmly shook his head. “There will not be another.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “As much as I love to hear that, I have my doubts.”

“Do not tell me what I want.”

“You're right. Sorry.”

_Maybe you should start sharing my life, then_? Anders thought.

It was probably best not to say it.


End file.
